


It's Not a Homeless Life For Me, It's Just I'm Home Less Than I'd Like to Be

by Kiromenanz



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, Charity Shop, F/F, Family Feels, Flirting, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 03:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8781838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiromenanz/pseuds/Kiromenanz
Summary: Am considering donating 2/3 of my belongings to a charity, he texted Morgana as he got into his car. When he slammed the car door, having parked it haphazardly somewhere along his driveway, and made his way to the house, she had answered.As if. The day you do anything that's not self-serving is the day I will swim naked in uncle Agravaine's duck pond.
Well, that settled that.
 
Or: Arthur's a bit of an arse, but Merlin fixes him in less than three months.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Merlin Hols Community, this is for you because you are amazing ;). And thank you to the mods for being really, really awesome and also incredibly patient with me.   
> Also, thank you silence_since_silence for your awesome prompts! I know you dropped out, but I still would like you to know that I had a lot of fun with writing this fic, and I hope that if you ever come across it for some reason, you'll enjoy it. And also, very importantly, thanks to my beta for being wonderful!   
> Any remaining mistakes are mine. Title is from "Homeless" by Ed Sheeran.  
> A tiny warning for homophobic!Agravaine (blink and you miss it).

The guy's snivels were disgusting. Arthur couldn't understand what was so hard about using a handkerchief, seriously, did he have to put people off their lunch?

“I know this is hard for you, it was a very difficult decision for us too,” he said again while rummaging through his desk drawer. He'd had some Hobnobs, right? At least he'd thought so. “But the company simply can't keep all of you employed with the economy as it is, so someone had to go.”

The guy sniffled even louder. “But why me? My quarterly reviews were so great, and Miss Le Fay said I had real potential!”

Arthur held back from rolling his eyes. According to Morgana, everyone had “potential”, even the woman who cleaned their loos. Arthur was starting to suspect that it was just a synonym for “a beaten-up car and terrible taste in clothes”.

“Terribly sorry,” he murmured and started unloading all the documents bunched up in the drawer onto the desk. Where on earth had he put those Hobnobs? After the stress of the morning he definitely deserved them.

“But – I wanted to take my wife on a cruise! She's already so exited, I've been saving for months!”  
“What a shame.” Arthur unearthed a pair of broken Dolce&Gabbana sunglasses and some dusty after-dinner mints. After a brief consideration he pressed them into the guy's sweaty hand. There, that was his good deed for the day.

“Here, take those. And if I were you, I'd invest the money in a decent pair of shoes instead. Whatever those things on your feet are, they're atrocious.”

He could hear the guy's sniffles all the way to the elevator. With a yell of triumph, he tugged the packet of Hobnobs free from the back of the drawer.

  
  


  
  


When Arthur came home, Morgana threw a shoe at his head.

Luckily, he'd kept fit even after leaving Uni and giving up footie, and dodged it. It crashed into the closed door behind him and fell onto the soft, cream-coloured carpet with a dull thud.

“Morgana, what _the fuck_?”

She was standing unevenly, one foot five inches off the floor and the other on its tiptoes, trying to make up for the imbalance. Arthur didn't need to take in her rumpled blouse, messed-up hair or heaving shoulders to know she was livid.

Arthur tugged the heavy coat off his shoulders. “Did father say something to you again? And how on earth did you get into my house, I thought I had the only keys?”

Morgana didn't even deign to dignify that with an answer. Instead, she hobbled towards Arthur and seized him by the lapels of his suit jacket. “You, brother mine, are a horrid human being and I cannot believe you did that!”

Arthur sighed and gently tugged himself free to go and hang up his coat. “You heard what I did to Jeffersson.”

“I heard what you did to Jeffersson!” she screeched and pointed an angry finger at him. “What on earth compelled you to fire a perfectly good employee?”

“Look, Morgana – can't we discuss this somewhere more comfortable? In the kitchen maybe, I've had a very trying day.”

Morgana gave a bitter laugh. “You? You had a trying day? You weren't the one who had to comfort a man for two hours because his whole livelihood was cut off without a warning and he has a family of four to feed!”

Arthur grimaced. “That sounds unpleasant. I only had to spend ten minutes in the guy's company and it was already the worst ten minutes I ever had. My sympathies.”

Morgana was silent for a few moments. Her jaw clenched and unclenched, as did her fists. Arthur carefully took a step backwards.

Just when he thought she was about to hit him, she took a deep breath and her shoulders relaxed.

It didn't make him feel any better. As much as he hated Morgana angry, he hated Morgana sad even more. And now, his brave, impenetrable fortress of a sister was tearing up.

“You know Arthur, when you started in father's company I thought you'd revolutionise it. After all, you're Arthur – you're incredibly smart, you have a vision, and you're one of the kindest, gentlest people I know. But this?” She gestured to his body, then to the tall, modern house around them. “This isn't what I hoped for. And I hate it, I hate it so much.” Even more tears gathered in her eyes, threatening to spill. Something in his chest clenched.

Morgana straightened her spine and crossed her arms. “I'm ashamed to be your sister today, Arthur.”

She hobbled past him where he stood, struck speechless in the entryway of the grand house he'd gotten for himself after three years as Camelot's CEO.

He clenched his teeth and stared at her back.

She bent down to collect her shoe and slipped it on. Without a glance back, she tugged the door close behind her.

The quiet _click_ resonated through the house.

Arthur clenched his teeth even harder. Something hot and ugly was roaring in his chest, setting fire to his ribs. His fists clenched.

Before he even knew he was doing it, he had turned and punched the door with all his might.

The pain didn't catch up to him until his second glass of whiskey.

  
  


Here's the thing: Arthur didn't even _like_ working at Camelot.

Not that he didn't like the work. No, he loved overseeing all the employees, watching them bustle around like bees, he loved the important meetings, the air of efficiency and the smell of shitty coffee in the air. He loved settling his signature on the dotted line with a flourish, and he loved the tiny, relived smiles everyone would allow themselves when a long project was finally dealt with. He even loved when things went sideways, when the comforting bustle of their offices suddenly turned into alarmed buzzing. He loved the sounds of rapid footsteps, when people began running from the copy machine to their seats to conserve those precious few seconds. The adrenaline in the air, his racing heartbeat, and the feeling when finally, things slid into place. Those nights, going home was almost a shame. Coming down from the high always left him feeling empty and bereft, and he wished he could have stayed a little longer beneath the angry glare of the fluorescent lights while the city lost itself to sleep and music and alcohol all around them.

What he didn't like was the company itself. It was a sacred place, built by the sweat and tears of Uther Pendragon. It felt like a betrayal to look in the mirror at work, the fluorescent lights carelessly exposing the bags beneath his eyes and the limpness of his hair after another all-nighter, and wonder why he was even doing it. To walk through the corridors and recoil internally at the brown carpets, the opulent paintings of past generations of Pendragons, the feeling of his father's gaze on his shoulders, pressing him downwards with such a force that Arthur was always surprised that the floor could hold his weight, that no matter how heavy he felt, he wasn't crashing through the floor to thoroughly startle Miranda in accounting as he dropped on her desk like a rock.

He'd shiver when the elevator dinged, announcing another investor coming to him with effusive praise and too much money, when the phone rang and the receiver suddenly weighed a thousand pounds because he knew it was his uncle Agravaine on the other end, checking in on him. He'd feel nauseous when sinking into the plush leather seats reserved for the board of directors meetings, where an avalanche of white-haired, wrinkled men would stare at him, demanding explanations and results and ice-cold calculations.

But it felt like a betrayal to think about these things, so Arthur didn't.

  
  


Arthur had no idea when he'd gathered so many clothes. It was ridiculous.

“Twenty yellow shirts!” he exclaimed, baffled, “ _twenty,_ Mith! I don't even like yellow!”

“Yellow makes you look like you're suffering from the stomach flu,” Mith supplied helpfully, voice slightly tinny. Arthur wedged the phone between his ear and shoulder and tugged at a piece of cloth of indeterminable colour that seemed stuck on the back of his closet. “Did you make up with Morgana yet?”

Arthur huffed and ignored the clench in his chest. “No. She's the one who got all upset over nothing, why should I go and apologize?”

Mithian sighed. “Darling, if I didn't love you so much I'd have a few choice words for you right now.”

The fabric of unknown colour and purpose ripped loudly. Arthur couldn't help but think that it was rather satisfying, even if it made him stumble backwards with the sudden give. “ _Darling_ ,” he repeated, trying to infuse the word with as much sarcasm as humanly possible, “I am the CEO of the most successful newspaper company in all of England, I can't keep Camelot running by treating my employees like they're children!”

“No,” Mithian said, and her voice got colder, “but you could at least treat them like they're people. This isn't like you, Arthur. You might be an ass, but you never were cruel.”

Arthur tugged harder at the remaining cloth of what had turned out to be a Hawaiian shirt to distract himself from the tight feeling in his chest. “I do what I need to do.”

Mithian sighed. “No. You're doing what you think your father wants you to do. Arthur, this is ridiculous, at his stage of alzheimer's you could be the editor of a gay porn mag and he wouldn't remember in the morning.”

The shirt tore free with a satisfying yank. “Doesn't stop him from being disappointed in me. Not that he's the only one, these days.”

“Oh, Arthur. You know we still love you. We'll always love you.”

Arthur pretended the sentence didn't curl comfortingly around the soreness in his heart, easing it a little. He cleared his throat.

“I – that is ... what you just said. Thank you.”  
“Thank you Arthur. I'd like to say we know, but it's always hard to tell with you, these days.”

There was an awkward pause. Arthur considered the sheer amount of leather piled high in his closet. “Mith, what am I supposed to do with all that leather?”

Mithian laughed. “Uhm, give it away? To a charity or something?”  
Arthur could see his own horrified face in the mirror across the room. “They'll think I'm like that guy in _Fifty Shades_!”

Mithian cackled. “Oh, that is a wonderful image! Wait until I tell Morgana about it!”

“Morgana isn't talking to me.”

He could make out the grin in Mithian's voice. “Doesn't mean she's not making fun of you.”

He heard the doorbell ring on Mithian's end. “Oh, that's her. Gotta run, love, my breathtakingly sexy girlfriend is here to take me out to eat. Or eat me out, you never know with her.”

“TMI, Jesus, don't ever tell me that again. Enjoy, or whatever.”

“See you around, Christian.”

He could still hear her cackle when he took the phone from his ear to hang up. He tossed it onto his bed and turned to face the closet again.

_Charity_ , he thought with disdain, _yeah right._

  
  


The idea stayed with him.

During a horribly boring meeting with some representatives of some firm or other, he mentally went through his shoes and catalogued them all. In the end, he determined that he had about three times as many as were needed. Really, it was excessive. Most of them he'd only ever worn once, then tossed them aside for his housekeeper to put them away.

As he was chugging his third coffee of the day, he wondered why he had bought all those books about business management back when he had started at Camelot. They were all as boring as watching paint dry and had about as much learning potential.

As we was taking the elevator down to the ground floor, he wondered if anybody really needed two tablets and three laptops.

_Am considering donating 2/3 of my belongings to charity_ , he texted Morgana as he got into his car. When he slammed the car door, having parked it haphazardly somewhere along his driveway and made his way to the house, she had answered.

_As if. The day you do anything that's not self-serving is the day I will swim naked in uncle Agravaine's duck pond._

Well, that settled that.

  
  


Deciding to donate, Arthur found out a few days later, was a lot easier than going about it.

First of all, he needed a lot of cardboard boxes.

He hadn't known how many superfluous things he owned until he'd started specifically searching for them. His university buddy Gwaine had brought over some charity bags, but they hadn't been nearly enough, so cardboard boxes it was.

Then, there was the matter of transportation.

They had at first thought to use Arthur's car, but it soon became apparent that it didn't even fit half the things he'd tried to pile in there. The roof wouldn't close anymore, and when he'd left it up everything had tumbled out along the driveway. They'd spent an hour picking it up again.

“If I didn't know that it's completely useless to say this,” Gwaine grumbled as he dusted off some of Arthur's never-ending collection of red shirts, “I'd tell you to stop this strange project right now. But I know that'd do fuck-all, so I'm just making my displeasure known here.”

Arthur hummed non-committally.

In the end, they rented a van.

Arthur made Gwaine drive because Arthur refused to touch a car that looked like it was secretly the transformer's creepy drunk uncle.

“One day, I will pay you back for all of this,” Gwaine promised solemnly as he backed out of the corner they'd parked in, “One day.”

“One day I will pay you back for that time you made me dance naked in front of Professor Geoffrey,” Arthur said sweetly, “Now step on it, that squirrel is faster than us.”

“Yeah yeah, this isn't a fucking Jaguar you sodding wanker. Where are we taking this crap to anyways?”

Arthur took a breath. Let it out again. “Uhm.”

Gwaine blinked at him disbelievingly, then hurriedly swerved back onto the driveway to avoid running over the aforementioned squirrel. “This is a joke, right? You _have_ thought about _where_ to donate this shit _to_?”

Arthur stayed silent.

Gwaine hit the brakes hard and they came to a stop with a jolt. “I swear, Wart, you're the tossiest tosser of them all. What did you think, you'd just throw your stupid boxes and silly little shopping bags at the beggars on the streets and have them wash your feet in their grateful tears?”

Arthur huffed. “Stop that, it's not like it's hard finding poor people in London.”

Gwaine stared. “Jesus. Alright, my footie buddy goes to this one charity shop, they're always looking for donations. Will that suit your highness?”

Honestly, he didn't know why Gwaine was making such a big deal out of it. “It's not like it matters who takes all the stuff. The important bit is that I'm giving people things. It'll show Morgana that I'm a good person after all, and she can finally stop sulking.”

“I don't think that's how it works.”

Arthur crossed his arms. “Reserve your judgement for someone else. How far away is that shop?”

Gwaine stepped on the gas again and turned towards the city. “Not far, half an hour if the traffic flows well. We'll be there in no time.”

  
  


London traffic, as always, was a nightmare. It took them almost an hour to reach the shop, and when Arthur got out of the car he felt stiff and cranky.

“Where is that shithole? I can't wait to get home and have a good cup of tea.”

The charity shop in question seemed to be a modest little place, crammed between a pharmacy and a Greggs. The red front was battered, and the slightly scratched windows had clearly seen better days. Through them, Arthur could see into the cluttered interior of the shop, which seemed deserted.

“Seems to be a bit run-down,” he remarked off-handedly, “apparently don't have a clue how to run a business.”

Gwaine grunted and heaved a box of books out of the van. “It's a _charity_ shop, you twat, they're not in it to make profit. Are you going to help with these or not?”

Arthur did. One after another, they tugged the boxes down and carried them into the shop.

The inside was even more cluttered than Arthur had anticipated. There were stacks upon stacks of books, rows of clothes, and Arthur thought he could even spot a surfing board in a corner.

The first time he came into the shop, it seemed empty. The second time, Gwaine was standing by the counter, gesticulating wildly and telling some outrageous story that involved some choice curse words and a few hair tosses.

Arthur was about to reprimand him for slacking off (never mind that Gwaine was helping him voluntarily, surely that was a footnote in the best-friend-contract?), when his eyes slid past Gwaine to the guy he was talking to.

Back when his father had had his lucid days more often than his confused ones, one of his favourite stories to tell had been the one of how Uther Pendragon had met Ygraine du Bois. Arthur had always listened, and hmmed and oohed and aahed at the appropriate moments. But he had never truly bought the story of passion, heartbreak and a love that struck as suddenly and unexpectedly as a lightning bold. Love at first sight, determined Arthur, was a ridiculous and cheesy concept used to sell bad stories to the masses. A businessman such as himself, of course, knew better, and could see it for the hoax that it was.

When he stared into the guy's eyes for the first time, it felt like he was hit by lightning, and he wondered distantly if he wasn't a bigger idiot than even Morgana thought him to be.

The guy's eyes were blue, and framed by ridiculously long lashes. Arthur felt a little out of breath just looking at him.

“Go out with me,” he blurted, and interrupted a conversation that had apparently been going on between the shop assistant and Gwaine. He couldn't even remember what they had been talking about.

Two incredulous pairs of eyes settled on him.

“Excuse me?” the guy said, handsome face wrinkling up in a frown.

Arthur licked his lips and tried not to be distracted by the guys mouth. “You and me. We should go out. On a date.”

The guy's eyebrows climbed up his forehead. “No.”

There was an awkward silence. Arthur’s eyes dipped downwards to take in the guy's name tag pinned to his loose sweatshirt. _Merlin,_ it read.

“Why on earth not?” He didn't have to fake the bafflement in his voice. He couldn't remember the last time he'd asked someone out and been turned down.

Coming to think of it, he was fairly sure it had never happened to him.

The guy - Merlin, Arthur’s brain corrected him, if that was even a real name - frowned even harder.

“I don't know you. And you're rude, you can't just walk in here and demand that I go out with you. That's not how it works.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and leaned forward. Apparently this guy was a little dim. Resting his hands on the counter, he gave his most winning smile. “Listen, _Merlin_ , I'm sure this isn't news to you, but I'm not just anyone. I'm the CEO of the most successful newspaper company in all of England.”

Merlin's jaw dropped. Distantly Arthur registered Gwaine’s murmured “Bloody hell, Arthur,” but he ignored it.

Merlin's pale skin was slowly turning a dull red. Arthur rather liked the look on him, it made his amazing eyes sparkle.

“You–” Merlin started, stopped, then took a deep breath and shook his head. “You are the most offensive person I've ever met!”

“And you're the most gorgeous one _I've_ ever met.” Merlin did not look impressed, and his angry flush wasn't receding. “You should be on the cover of a magazine,” _preferably naked,_ his brain supplied, “not in a run-down charity shop on the outskirts of London.”

Merlin crossed his arms in front of his chest. It made the oversized sweatshirt bunch of weirdly, and yet it was the most endearing thing Arthur had ever seen. He wanted to take Merlin home with him and build him a blanket fort and feed him hot chocolate and hobnobs.

_He's not a pet,_ a voice in his head sounding annoyingly like Morgana chided, _you can't just take him home with you like a stray dog!_

“Listen, you pompous ass. I don't care who you are and kind of car you drive, if you think you can come in here and insult me and my shop and get away with it, you're sorely mistaken. Now, if you want me to take all that crap you just left on my doorstep you'll get your head out of your arse or, donations or no, you'll be out faster than you can say _Armani,_ got it?”

Arthur’s mouth tugged upwards in a helpless smile. How could someone be so adorable when grumpy, it should defy the laws of nature.

Merlin eyes Arthur’s smile with distaste.

“Got it,” Arthur said. “Do you want us to bring the rest in as well?”

Merlin's eyes went impossibly round. “There's more?”

For the first time Arthur could feel a blush rising on his face. It had been a bit of an excessive move, he had to admit that. “Kind of, yeah.”

Merlin waved a hand dismissively. Arthur couldn't help but notice that it was a beautiful hand, with long slim fingers, and slightly calloused from hard work. “Alright, bring them inside.”

Arthur flashed Merlin another grin and ducked out the door. He turned backwards multiple times, noting that Gwaine was following him dutifully. Merlin was crouching down next to one of the boxes (Christ, the guy had long legs! They were positively indecent in the ripped skinny jeans he was wearing) and expertly cutting them open with a pair of scissors.

“Arthur I swear to God, sometimes you're fucking embarrassing.”

Arthur rolled his eyes and lifted another box. It was rather heavy, probably the books. “Did you _see_ him, Gwaine? He's perfect!”

Gwaine smirked and shrugged. “He's cute. Not my type though.”

Arthur almost dropped the box in indignation. “ _Cute_? _Cute?_ He's bloody adorable. And fucking gorgeous.”

“And he can't stand the sight of you.”

Now it was Arthur’s turn to shrug. “He'll come to his senses. Besides, he's got a spine, that's good.”

He shouldered open the door and dropped the box where he stood, his eyes immediately searching out his future boyfriend.

Merlin was still crouched on the floor, but this time by another box. His jet black hair was disheveled, and Arthur wanted to run his hands through it.

Something was definitely wrong with him.

“Did you organise this stuff at all?” Merlin asked. He sounded cross, and Arthur found himself craning his head to try and get a look at his face. When Merlin finally turned around, Arthur's heart skipped.

_Ridiculous_.

A little too late it registered that Merlin had asked him a question. “Uhm,” he tried to think back to this morning and last night. “I don't think so. It's all just,” he waved his hand in the general direction of the boxes. They hadn't yet brought in all of them, but after one more trip they should be done, “somewhere in there.”

Merlin's face remained annoyed, but Arthur thought he could see a sparkle of amusement flittering over his expression. “You know that it'll take us ages to go through this?”

Arthur frowned. “But you take all this stuff, right? I mean–“ he nodded to the shelves, stuffed to the brim with all kinds of things – little sculptures, books, hats, gloves, lamps, more books, even candles, “there doesn't seem to be much of a system there.”

Merlin's expression went back to annoyed so quickly that it took Arthur a second to realise it had been something else before. “We have all that organised and labelled, thank you very much.”

Arthur peered at a big stuffed teddy bear with a bow around his neck. “Really? It just seems–“

“Look,” Merlin interrupted him. “What I'm saying is that each of these boxes will need a few hours to go through, the electronics will need to be taken to another shop to appraise, then we'll need to label the rest and decide whether we'll put it in storage or in the shop itself, and–“

“You have storage? How many things are there in this tiny house?”

Merlin rubbed a hand over his face. “Listen, clotpole, either you shut up and do as I say or I kick you out right now and you can look for your validation elsewhere. Or whatever it is you're trying to achieve by flooding us with all these things.”

“ _Clotpole_?”

Merlin shot him an angry look. Arthur's mouth went dry, and he frantically hoped he wasn't blushing.

_Shit that's hot_.

“Now, listen: Me and Freya are the only workers here, and though Gwen volunteers once a week these boxes will keep us from doing all the other things for weeks. So, and I hate to do this, we can't take all of it. Especially since you didn't sort them, it'll just take too long, we can't spend two hours everyday just separating your old socks from your underwear.”

Turned out Merlin saying _underwear_ was enough to render Arthur absolutely speechless for a few seconds more. So it took some time before his brain kicked back into gear.

“So, you need someone to come in here and sort through them?”

Merlin opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Wait, no, that's not what I said.”

Arthur crossed his arms, knowing that it showed off his biceps nicely. Merlin's eyes flickered downwards for less than a second, and Arthur felt his heart speed up.

“I know it isn't, but it would solve the problem wouldn't it? I could get rid of all the clutter, and you could still make money with it for – well, whatever you're making money for here.”

Merlin coughed. Arthur suspected that it was to cover up a smile. “You don't even know what we're collecting for here?”

The little bell above the door jingled and Gwaine came in, the remaining two boxes piled high in his arms. “Seriously Arthur? It says it on the huge sign outside!”

Arthur shrugged. “It's not like it matters.”

“It should matter to you, after all you made the donation,” Merlin pointed out.

“Well, I didn't–“ _I didn't donate this shit for others, it was just on a whim. To prove a point to Morgana._ But the words got stuck in his throat. Even Arthur knew that that would be a callous thing to say, and somehow Merlin's heavy eyes on him made him want to be better than that.

Whatever that meant. He frowned, but shook it off.

“Anyway, I could come in sometimes, unpack the things, help out.” He could barely believe what he was saying. Gwaine's snort next to him told him that he hadn't fooled his friend at all with the reason for his suggestion. “That'd work, right?”

Merlin looked dubious. “I mean, yes. If you think you'd do that, and stick with it.”

Arthur grinned. “I'm a persistent one.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “I figured that, yeah.”

Something like relief trickled down Arthur's spine and bubbled happily in his stomach. “Great, so when do you want me?”

Merlin bit his lip and cast his eyes around, as if looking for the answer somewhere among the musical scores and dictionaries. “Saturdays? You could come over an hour before the shop opens and unpack one box a week, how's that sound?”

Arthur did some quick math. Considering the amount of boxes and bags he had brought, that would mean he could spend some time with Merlin for at least nine weeks, until the week before Christmas. Maybe if he took his time, or smuggled some other things in there, he'd have more than two months in Merlin's company every Saturday.

Surely two months were more than enough to convince Merlin to date him?

“Sure,” he said, “can't wait.”

  
  


The next day, at eight am sharp, Arthur stood in front of the shop. Remembering the look in Merlin's eyes, he looked up at the sign mounted above the door. “Oxfam” it read. Even Arthur knew that one.

Anyway, it wasn't like it mattered which charity it was.

The bell above the door jingled when he pushed it open, and automatically his eyes sought out Merlin.

He was sitting at the counter, perched on what Arthur determined to be a stool and bent over a book that he was hastily scribbling in. He was wearing a rumpled blue shirt, a red neckerchief, a frown and an ink stain on his cheek. He looked ridiculous. Arthur wanted to kiss him.

Instead, he all but dropped a cup of coffee and a paper bag with two donuts on the counter. The dull thud of it made Merlin look up.

“What are those?” Merlin asked as Arthur struggled to get his breath back.

“Coffee,” he said, “I'd have thought you were familiar with it. It's a caffeinated beverage made by grinding–“

“I know what a coffee is, you twat.”

Arthur grinned. “Just making sure.”

“Well, I don't need it, I've already had breakfast. And I said I won't go out with you, so don't think you can sneak in a coffee-invitation like that.”

Arthur couldn't help but laugh. “Alright, more subtlety, got it.”

“Or,” Merlin suggested lightly, “you could leave me alone and concentrate on the boxes I put on the table in the storage room over there,” he pointed at a door between two clothing racks. “One is labelled _socks_ but there's not one sock in there.”

“What can I say,” Arthur said and stole a donut out of the bag, “labels aren't my strong suit.” He winked at Merlin and sauntered over to the door, leaving it wide open. He bent over the box slowly, making sure his thighs and arse were in the perfect position for Merlin to ogle.

“Not subtle!” Merlin called, “and pull up those jeans, the view isn't as pretty as you think.”

Arthur laughed again. “But you were looking.”

The ensuing silence etched a grin onto his face that stayed for several minutes.

After two hours Arthur had sorted through all the contents of the box. Most of them were shirts and jeans, and he put them on the appropriate rails. Merlin had given him clear instructions where to put what, and as Arthur stretched his back he felt like he hadn't done a bad job of it.

His eyes fell on the three shoes that were sitting on the table next to the empty box and his lip curled.

Merlin appeared at his elbow as if by magic. Arthur might be imagining things, but it felt like he could feel Merlin's body heat through the several layers of clothing separating them. When their forearms brushed ever so slightly, electricity zinged up his arm.

“Are those three right shoes?”

Arthur huffed. “Apparently. You don't happen to know where the other ones are?”

“Do I look like your housekeeper?” Merlin said, “They're probably somewhere in one of those.” He indicated towards the rest of Arthur's boxes stacked on the far wall. With the shelves, the table and the boxes, the room was rather crowded. Arthur realised how close Merlin was standing to him and turned his head to the right.

He could smell Merlin's shampoo. He wondered whether this was crossing the line. But then, Merlin was the one who had come in and stood so close to him.

Merlin's eyes flickered over to him. Arthur thought he could see a light blush rising in his cheeks.

“Anyway, you're done for the day. Have a great day chasing around peacocks, or diving for pearls, or whatever your type does.”

“Don't be ridiculous, we have employees for that type of thing.”

Merlin huffed, as if unsure if he wanted to be offended or amused. “Funny. Now, bye, I do have some actual work to do.”

Arthur knew when he wasn't wanted, so he refrained from pointing out that Merlin could work perfectly well while Arthur was sorting in the storage room. And besides, it wasn't as if there had been a single customer in the time he had spent back there.

At the door he turned around again, smiling at Merlin who was already bent over his book again. “Hey Merlin?”

“Hm?”

“Come eat lunch with me?”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “Go home, Arthur.”

Arthur shrugged and left. Rome wasn't built in a day after all, and all that jazz.

  
  


So it became a thing. On Saturdays, Arthur would get up early, work out, shower, and head for the shop. At eight am sharp he'd be standing by the door, cups of coffee in one hand, donuts of the day in a paper bag in the other. The second Saturday, Merlin had frowned and archly said, “You do know I can afford my own food, right?”, but on the third he had just rolled his eyes and let Arthur be, so he counted it as a success.

Inside it was always toasty and warm, while the temperature outside was steadily dropping. On his way to the shop on the third Saturday, Arthur walked by his hall stand and realised that he owned an armful of scarves. He thought back to the customer who had come into the shop the week before, face ruddy from the cold, shivering into her flimsy jacket. He grabbed the whole lot of them and dropped them on Merlin as he was trying to hang up some fairy lights in the window.

“You're such a prat,” Merlin said and stroked his hand across a grey scarf. “Is this cashmere?”

Arthur had grinned and excused himself to the storage room.

Slowly, with gentle nudges and even gentler questions, Arthur got Merlin to relax in his presence. By the fourth Saturday, Arthur knew that the house the shop was in had belonged to Merlin's great-uncle Gaius. It had been a bookstore, apparently, once upon a time. But when Gaius had died, Merlin had donated the shop to Oxfam and turned it into a charity shop. Arthur knew that Merlin loved everything with cinnamon, that he got cold easily. That wished he could light candles in the shop and put them on all surfaces without violating the safety regulations, and that he lived in a little flat above the shop. “It's small, and a little cramped, but it's mine, and it's comfy. Besides, it's convenient to live less than a minute away from your place of work,” he said while rolling up some of the socks Arthur had gotten as a present but never worn. “I kind of love it.”

Arthur was starting to get the bad feeling that he kind of loved Merlin.

Which was stupid. Utterly, utterly, stupid. He didn't even know Merlin. Apart from the fact that he was quick-witted, and funny, and was very passionate about helping out the poor, that he loved to wear scarves and neckerchiefs, that he cared deeply about his friends, that he had a cat called Kilgarrah who was never allowed in the shop because he'd shredded all the T-Shirts once for no discernible reason. That he wore glasses sometimes, drove a beaten-up Toyota. That his eyes sparkled when he talked about the shop and the work he was doing like they had a million tiny stars hidden in their depth, the wry curl of his lips when Arthur said something stupid but kind of amusing – apart from all these things, Arthur knew _absolutely nothing_ about Merlin.

(He was so fucked.)

After exactly three hours, Merlin always kicked him out. And without fail, Arthur would end the day by asking him out.

“Go out with me,” he'd say, or: “Date me,” or: “Let's have dinner.”

And Merlin always, without fail, said no.

Arthur wasn't discouraged. There was a reason that he was the youngest CEO in England, and no matter what his critics said, it was not because his father was Camelot’s founder.

If Arthur was anything, it was persistent.

He made sure not to press too much, though. After all, the last thing he wanted was for Merlin to feel uncomfortable in his presence. So he firmly stuck to the limits Merlin set him, and he limited himself to one compliment a day.

It was harder than you'd think, but he managed.

The first time he broke his self-imposed rule was on the fifth Saturday. Arthur was sorting the yellow shirts by shade and style while Merlin was perched on top of the table, skinny legs crossed and glasses on his nose. (Arthur had already complimented him on the glasses. Or, rather, he had blurted “Bloody hell you look good in glasses,” as soon as he'd set foot in the shop and spied Merlin with them. Merlin had blushed (blushed! For the first time blushed at something Arthur said! It made him a little giddy) and the customer with him had giggled.)

“So your sister works for the same company?” Merlin asked and rolled up a pair of socks carefully.

Arthur hmmed and held up a shirt against the dim light of the storage room. “My father made sure there were positions for both of us in the company in case we were qualified for it. She's our Art Director. It suits her much better, she's pretty creative.” Even he could hear the stupidly proud note in his voice. Hurriedly, he continued, “She's not talking to me at the moment though.” Christ, that was even worse. He held the shirt up even higher. “Do you think this is butterscotch or mustard yellow?”

Merlin leaned over to peer at the shirt, the tips of his hair dangerously close to Arthur's head. Arthur gulped. “I think that is one ugly shirt.”

Arthur barked a laugh. “It is, isn't it? Why did I even own that?”

Merlin giggled. “I don't know. Maybe _butterscotch yellow_ was the new hot trend in the business world. I heard Bill Gates went to his latest product launch in a butterscotch yellow suit.”

Arthur was horrified. “Oh god, the image. That's worse than the time I came into my uncle's office to find him trying on a morph suit to Katy Perry music.”

Merlin stared at him dumbly for a second. There was a horrible moment where Arthur thought _that's it, I fucked up, he loves morph suits, he has a Katy Perry altar and he won't allow her name to be mentioned in vain, I've fucked up, he'll never speak to me again,_ before Merlin broke out in loud laughter.

It was the first time he had ever witnessed Merlin laugh. He'd heard him chuckle, seen him smile and grin at the customers (Merlin was very free with his smiles, Arthur had learnt. He had a seemingly endless supply of them, ready to hand out for all the downtrodden, tired, excited, rained-on people crossing his path, never failing to cheer them up. Even for Arthur, who probably still wasn't one of his favourite people, he always had a smile. Arthur pretended he didn't count the smiles Merlin gave him in a day, didn't go through them before going to sleep at night. There was only so much pathetic crushing he could handle to admit to himself). But he'd never seen Merlin laugh.

Merlin's laugh shook his whole body and flushed his cheeks. His eyes crinkled, and his smile was wide and toothy.

Arthur could feel himself flushing.

_I am so gone on him_ , he thought.

It took a few minutes until Merlin calmed down. He wiped tears from the corners of his eyes and grinned at Arthur.

Arthur could feel his heartbeat in the tips of his fingers, blood rushing hot and sparkling through his whole body. “You're beautiful when you laugh,” he said without thinking.

Merlin's mouth snapped shut. A blush raced up his cheeks, settling on his prominent cheekbones in a way that made Arthur desperate to cradle his face and kiss them.

Merlin's blue eyes were wide. He scrambled down from the table and almost tripped over his own feet in his haste to get to the door. “I – uhm, I have to do a thing. For a – a thing. Yes.”

He closed the door behind him, and Arthur was left alone in the dusty storeroom, heart racing and fingertips tingling.

It took him a few minutes to get his breathing back under control. Only when he got back to folding the shirts did he notice that Merlin had taken the pair of socks with him.

  
  


Of course, at some point Morgana was bound to notice that something was up. Arthur was rather amazed it had taken her more than a week, even if she was actively avoiding him.

On the sixth Saturday, he ran into her on his way to the shop. Which was to say, she was standing in front of his car, arms crossed and winged eyeliner upgrading her glare from _fearsome_ to _deadly_.

“Jesus Christ Morgana!” he yelped and clutched at his heart like a fainting maiden. “Warn a guy, would you?”

_She's here_ , his thoughts sang _, she's here and she's looking at you like she did when you accidentally ran over the neighbour's gold hamster with your toy car and cried about it for two days. She's looking at you like_ before.

Morgana pursed her lips. “You're up to something. I know you, little brother. Those trips to the city all of a sudden, on Saturdays, and you're _not_ going into the company, don't try to pull that with me, I checked.” By which she meant of course that she had bullied Jesse, the security guy, to let her look at the CCTV footage.

Arthur rubbed his neck awkwardly. “I've been busy.”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “I _know_. The question is _with what._ ”

Arthur opened his mouth, a thousand excuses ready on his tongue, just waiting to pour out. But he thought back to Merlin, and his casual closeness to Freya. He thought about Merlin's elegant wrist, the slim fingers he was so desperate to hold, the thin waist and bony elbows. He remembered Morgana's sad eyes, brimming with tears, and he knew that Merlin was not someone Arthur even wanted to hide.

He opened the door on the passenger side of his car. “Jump in, I'll show you.”

Morgana was looked caught off-guard by Arthur's casual compliance, and she just stood on the driveway for a few seconds. Only when Arthur had settled behind the steering wheel and let the motor roar did she start moving, slipping onto the seat and closing the door with a resounding bang.

It was strange how, while the quiet sound of a door closing had sent him reeling for days, the sound of his car door slamming shut settled his heart in ways that even Mithian's quiet assurances hadn't managed to do.

“How's Mith?” he asked as he turned towards London, stepping on the gas. “The exhibition still kicking her arse?”

Morgana released her dark hair from her ponytail, letting it flow freely over her shoulders. “Pretty much. The other night I woke up to her crouching in the corner, spraying glitter onto the racoon painting.”

She said it easily, as if they hadn't spent the last two months apart, only exchanging the bare bones of conversation to convey the information the company needed to keep running. Arthur wondered whether her appearance at his house was a sign of her forgiveness, or an apology, or just the sign that those things might be possible, or all of them at once.

It might be selfish of him, but he didn't really care. He was just happy to have his sister back.

“Sounds tough. When's the big opening night?”

“The night of the 24th. And you'd better be there, or I'll personally skin you and decorate your organs with the glitter paint.”

Arthur shivered, then grinned. “Duly noted.”

He chanced a glance at Morgana. She was looking at him with a soft smile.

“You're different, Arthur. Or maybe you're just as you used to be, again.” Her voice got even quieter. “I like it.”

He quickly slipped his hand from the console to squeeze her hand. “Me too.”

They both cleared their throat at the same time, trying to get rid of the emotional atmosphere in the car.

“So,” Morgana said conversationally, “what's brought this about? Drugs? Sex? Rock'n'Roll? Did you adopt a secret child? Or maybe a kitten? Oh god, you're not taking me to some kind of seedy swing club, are you?”

Arthur choked on his laugh. “What the fuck, no, no to all of those. Nothing that dramatic.”

Morgana smirked. “So something more subtle then?”

Arthur suddenly remembered Merlin's instruction to be more subtle. “Yeah,” he smiled, “something like that.”

Morgana hummed thoughtfully. Arthur glanced at her. She had a shrewd look about her that he didn't like at all.

Of course, because for once Arthur wanted to delay his arrival to the shop, the traffic was flowing smoothly, and they'd reached it at ten minutes to eight.

He parked in the same spot as always, a few metres down from the shopfront, and tried to ignore Morgana craning her head to spot where they might be going.

Arthur got out of the car, not even turning back to make sure she was following him. He knew she would be. When he turned towards the shop, Morgana sucked in a breath. “A charity shop, Arthur? How intriguing!”

Arthur rolled his eyes and pushed open the door. With a quick look he located Merlin, sitting on the counter swinging his legs, talking to Freya who was folding some shirts.

“Morning Arthur,” she chirped.

“Morning cabbagehead.” Merlin grinned, then his eyes slipped past Arthur to Morgana, who was gingerly stepping inside the shop behind him. “Hello, and who are you?”

Morgana seemed to be too busy looking around the shop, no doubt taking in every last detail to somehow use as blackmail against him later.

“My sister Morgana,” Arthur said. He didn't say _She's talking to me again, Merlin!_ Or _Merlin, meet my family_ , but he could tell from the softening of Merlin's eyes that he had caught the insinuation anyway.

He hopped down from the counter and held out his hand to Morgana. “Nice to meet you, Arthur has told us a lot about you. Only good things, of course.”

Morgana shook his hand, eyes glittering with amusement. “Hello,” a quick look at his name tag, today pinned to another huge, chunky sweater, “Merlin. What a delight to meet you, Arthur has told me _absolutely nothing about you_.”

The last part was directed at Arthur, he could tell. He rolled his eyes again. “You weren't talking to me, what did you expect me to say? _Hey Morgana I know you're super keen on running from this room right this second, but I met this guy and he's perfect and I'm sorting boxes at this charity shop for him once a week, have a nice day and remember to sign those forms_?”

Morgana's eyes got wide. “You _met this guy_ , u-hu, interesting. So this is a dating type of situation?”

Merlin flailed. “What? No! We are not dating, Arthur and me – not dating. Not in a dating-type of relationship.”

Freya laughed from the corner. Arthur liked her. He'd met her a week ago because she wasn't in every Saturday. And while he had been cautious in the beginning (Merlin was so comfortable, so gentle with her, that Arthur couldn't help but think they– but she set him straight there) he'd quickly warmed up to her soft voice and dry wit. “Arthur wishes, though.”

Arthur grinned. “I wish, and I dream, and I pine, but Merlin remains immovable. It's tragic, really.”

Merlin laughed, as if they were sharing a joke, but Arthur could feel Morgana's pitying gaze on him. She'd always been far too good at telling if he was serious.

He rubbed his palms together. “Well, I don't think I want to be here for the awkward questions, I'll leave you to get to know each other. I'm assuming my box is in the same place as always?”

Merlin nodded, the tips of his adorable ears a little pink. Arthur smiled at him (something soft and private, and he tried not to think about Morgana's knowing look on him) and went into the dusty storage room. He closed the door and could still faintly hear Morgana's “So, tell me all about how you met Arthur...”.

He smiled and set to work, feeling thoroughly at peace for the first time in weeks.

  
  


When they left the shop exactly three hours later, Arthur asked Merlin out and Merlin said no. On their way to the car, Morgana stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“He's a good guy, your Merlin.”

“He's not my Merlin,” he said. _I wish he was though_.

He could tell from the look on her face that he hadn't fooled her. “I know. Just make sure this isn't becoming too much, for either of you. As much as I love you, we both know you're not an uncomplicated person to have in one's life.”

Arthur bit his lip and nodded. Morgana smiled.

“I am happy for you though, honestly. Love is a wonderful thing.”

_Love? Is that really what this is?_

He caught sight of Merlin through the glass windows, decorated with snowflakes and fairy lights. They illuminated his hair and dotted it with little gold specks of light.

_Shit, that's exactly what it is_.

  
  


Knowing for sure that he was in love with Merlin made things both harder and easier.

For one, it was a relief to know what effect Merlin had on him. He came to expect, even welcome, the racing of his heart, the sweaty palms that made him feel fifteen again, the dry mouth and sudden urges to smile at nothing but a memory, or a smile, or a glimpse of Merlin, or the first snow of the season that reminded him of Merlin's shop. It was a relief to compliment Merlin, to ask him out, to stare at him a beat too long and know that he meant it. He felt settled in a way that he couldn't remember feeling. He knew what he was, and finally, he was a man of his word again. When he told Merlin that he looked adorable in his huge jumper, he meant it. When he promised Merlin with a wink to think of him before going to sleep, he meant it. When he smiled at his receptionist in the morning when entering the company, he meant it. He felt solid, and only now did he realise how empty he'd felt before. Like those skins snakes shook off, shiny and interesting-looking, but light and empty, without weight to them, about to be blown away by a slight breeze. Arthur felt like a person again, and one day he found himself looking at himself beneath the stern glare of the fluorescent lights in the company loo and smiling at his reflection.

One day, sometime after the seventh Saturday, he buzzed his uncle up to his office.

“Arthur!” he greeted, spreading his arms as if to hug him. Arthur snorted. Agravaine hadn't voluntarily touched him since the “might be into guys” thing came out.

“Agravaine, have a seat.”

Agravaine settled into the slightly uncomfortable chair in front of Arthur's desk. “Arthur, I'm glad you initiated this meeting, I wanted to talk to you about the bonus for the board of directors–“

“Yes,” Arthur said, “that's a stupid idea, let's not do that.”

“I – what?”

Arthur got out the papers he had prepared for this and slid them across the desk, knowing that Agravaine wouldn't even glance at them. He didn't, but Arthur didn't care. “People on the board of directors make more than twenty times what ordinary employees make, what's up with that?”

Agravaine gaped. “The state of the economy–“

Arthur snorted. “That's bullshit, and you know it. That's a line we feed the people we lay off so we can pay more to those who spend their days eating sushi and watching crappy daytime TV. Our company can easily afford to pay ordinary employees more, so that's what we'll be doing.”

Agravaine blinked rapidly. “But, the board of directors–“

“Already cleared it with them.” By which he meant he'd sicked Morgana on them until they'd signed the agreements and necessary forms with shaky hands and sweaty faces. “We're raising the wage. Also, they'll get a bonus for the New Year. And we're getting rid of that atrocious gallery upstairs, who even thought that was a good idea?”

Something inside him was buzzing, setting his insides alight with anticipation. _This, this, this_ , it hummed, _this is what you're supposed to be doing_.

He slapped another sheet on top of the slowly increasing pile in front of Agravaine. “And we're buying a proper coffee machine for the lower levels, did you know what they drink is essentially bitter water? It's atrocious. And the complete levels two to seven need to be renovated, the carpets are filthy.”

“Your father–“

“Is in a nursing home for the elderly, and also, incidentally, no longer Camelot'sCEO. That'd be me, in case that's news to you. And I've decided that in order to maintain Camelot's top position on the market, we have to make the employees happy to work here. Make them want to contribute, and all that. _Sustainability_ , Agravaine.”

Agravaine was slowly turning puce. A much uglier colour than Merlin's saggy maroon jumper, Arthur noted, and suppressed a smile. “The company is running on a sustainability policy, has been for years–“

“Trying to sustain what, uncle, your two villas and ridiculously expensive stamp collection? I don't think that's quite the point of the issue, do you?”

Agravaine jumped up, clutching the papers tightly in his hand. “You can't just–“ he waved them around, seemingly lost for words.

Arthur smiled and handed him another sheet. “You'll find I can. All the relevant signatures are on this. I'll leave it to you to work out the details. Thank you for your support, you know what to do.”

His uncle opened and closed his mouth a few more times like a fish suddenly on dry land.

“Oh, and if you have any questions regarding the plans, feel free to contact Jeffersson in HR. He helped me come up with most of this, he's got a lot of potential.”

Agravaine glared daggers at him, stomped out of the room and yanked the door close with a bang.

Arthur smiled and nibbled on a Hobnob. He felt good.

  
  


In some ways, knowing he was in love with Merlin made things harder.

The ever-present rejections, the way Merlin left the room when Arthur tried to flirt with him, his easy way of communicating with everyone but Arthur chafed on him. All of a sudden he found himself dejected when he left the shop, jealous of Merlin's jokes with Freya, envious of the customer's time with Merlin. Yes, Merlin talked to him. They laughed together, they joked together, and they had some honest, serious conversations that were not littered with defensive sarcasm or awkward jokes. But whenever Arthur felt like they'd gotten somewhere, Merlin left the room in a hurry and cut the conversation short.

It was frustrating, and it was aggravating, and it was depressing.

On the ninth Saturday, a week before Christmas, Arthur folded up the last of the boxes, carefully storing it in the corner, leant against the others.

Something heavy was tugging his shoulders downwards. He stared at the box for a few minutes.

At last he sighed and left the room. It was just Merlin and him in today, Freya was visiting family, and Arthur hadn't yet met the elusive Gwen. Merlin was sitting by the counter, doodling in his ever-present notebook.

“I'm done,” Arthur announced, and tried not to cringe at his downtrodden tone. Merlin looked up with the seemingly ever-present smile, but it faded. He looked at the open door to the storage room, more organised than it had been when Arthur had set foot into the shop for the first time.

Something flickered over his expression. “Well done Arthur. I didn't think a posh git like you'd actually come in every week and do what they're told, I'm impressed.”

Arthur smiled. “I had good motivation.” It was painstakingly honest, and as always Merlin brushed it off with an eye roll. He jumped to his feet and came around the counter, holding out his hand. “I can't believe I'm saying this, but it was a pleasure meeting you, Arthur Pendragon. Do come by if you ever find yourself in need of a lamp-stand. Or maybe a vase and some plastic flowers.”

Arthur huffed a laugh. It felt hollow. He could feel the ache in him spreading all the way to his feet, as if he was nothing but skin covering up the emptiness inside. He shook Merlin's hand. “Will do, boss.”

Merlin smiled and tugged back his hand, but Arthur wasn't letting go. He couldn't end it yet, he was already desperate for just one more second in Merlin's company. And besides, there was still something he needed to say. “I'm sorry, you know.”

Merlin's eyebrows lifted. “For what?”

“For being an utter prat when we met. And for a bit after, too. You're right, I didn't donate because I wanted to help people out. I did it to prove a point to Morgana, and it was stupid and selfish and disrespectful, and I'm sorry for it.”

Merlin smiled at him. “It's fine. I know better now. You're kind of alright, when you unwind a bit.”

Arthur smiled back. “You're kind of alright too, you know.” _You're perfect_. “Thank you for letting me help out. I think it helped me more than you realise.”

“You're welcome.”

Merlin tugged his hand free, and this time Arthur let him go. He picked out his heavy coat and scarf and slung them over his arm. At the door he stopped, not opening it yet to keep out the cold. Merlin got cold so easily, after all.

“Hey Merlin?”

Merlin, he noted, hadn't looked away. He was leaning against the counter, watching Arthur dither on his doorstep. “Hm?”

“Would you go out with me, please?”

Merlin smiled, something gentle and sad. “No. No, I don't think so, Arthur. But thank you for asking me.”

Arthur nodded, heart heavy.

Apparently, two months were not enough to convince Merlin to date him. It seemed like no amount of time would ever be.

  
  


  
  


It was Christmas Eve, and Arthur was not moping, no matter what Morgana said.

Besides, it wasn't like he was religious, so really it was just like any other day. A perfect day to mope, in his opinion.

Morgana disagreed. Probably, he thought bitterly, because Morgana took pleasure in making people's lives as difficult as possible.

It was unfair, and he knew it, but he was heartbroken and he hadn't seen Merlin in a week and somehow his scarf smelled like the dusty interior of the shop (dust and cinnamon and coffee), and it was just not fair.

Okay, fine, he might be moping.

“Arthur I swear to god, you better put a smile on that face of yours right this instant. I understand that your heart just got broken, but this is Mith's big night, and I will allow nobody to ruin it, not even my own brother.”

Arthur smiled and nodded, nose buried in his scarf.

Morgana patted his shoulder and pulled into the parking lot of the gallery Mithian was exhibiting at.

“Why are they opening on Christmas Eve anyway, is that the usual thing to do in artsy circles?”

Morgana rolled her eyes. “Stop grumbling into your scarf, you're not a five-year-old who didn't get any sweets.”

Arthur didn't deign to reply to that.

Morgana got out of the car and Arthur followed her, chin still tucked into his scarf.

“It's pretty unusual, actually, but they wanted to make it special, apparently.” She tugged him towards the entrance with shaky hands. Arthur was beginning to think that Morgana was more nervous than Mithian.

In the cloakroom they got rid of their heavy jackets. Morgana was wearing a beautiful dress. It was unusual for her, Morgana usually went for much more dramatic outfits than a simple black dress. “I didn't want to upstage the art, or the artists,” she said when she noticed his astonished look. Her hands were clutching her small bag desperately.

Arthur smiled at her, the first honest smile he'd managed in a week. He imagined he could hear his muscles protest under the strain. “You look beautiful.”

Morgana didn't smile, but some of the tension went out of her shoulders. Arthur almost regretted calming her down when she fixed him with a stern glare. “Are you intending to wear that ridiculous scarf all night?”

Arthur's hand flew upwards to clutch at it as if she'd rip it from his neck any second. “Yes.”

Morgana sighed. “You're a menace, Arthur. Come on, this way.”

The exhibition was stunning. Mithian had outdone herself, her paintings were alive, rich colours contrasting, swirling, dancing and building strange shapes that somehow formed animals if you looked at them properly. Arthur even found the fabled glittery racoon painting, and had to admit it was his favourite. Mithian was with him at the time and blushed at the praise.

She looked stunning. Her dress was something light and intricate, long folds of soft cloth draping over each other artfully. Her shoulders were bare, and her head was held up high, and she had never looked more beautiful.

Arthur told her as much and she preened.

“Now now Arthur, if I didn't know you only had eyes for Merlin I'd think you were intending to steal my fiancé,” Morgana said with a smile.

“Fiancé?!” Mithian screeched, loud enough to turn the heads of a few visitors around them.

Arthur chuckled and left them to themselves and the ring Morgana had been hiding in her purse.

He wandered the twists and turns of the gallery, eyes taking in the artworks but his mind otherwise engaged. He wondered what Merlin was up to. He knew that Merlin didn't celebrate Christmas either. Freya was still with her family after spending Hanukkah with them, and Gwen had apparently flown out to spend the holiday and the New Year with her boyfriend, a guy who worked with kangaroos in Australia.

Was he all alone now? Or was he home with his mother in Wales? Was he lonely, or was he with people, celebrating, laughing, drinking, singing, not thinking of Arthur?

Arthur came to a stop in front of a flesh-coloured painting, swirls of colour smoothly blending into each other.

He thought of Merlin's soft, slightly cold hands, and not for the first time wished he could warm them up by holding them, by pressing a cup of hot cocoa into them, by kissing them until all of Merlin was flushed and warm and pliant.

Arthur sighed and scrubbed his hand over his face.

“I think so too. It's rather frustrating, isn't it? I just can't decide whether it's supposed to be a new-born cow or several naked people failing at yoga.”

Arthur blinked. He stared at the painting, the colours swimming in front of his eyes. His heart raced. “That's ridiculous,” he said, “it's obviously the morning after a university party. The naked host stumbling over the people left in the hallway in various states of undress.”

“Aaah,” Merlin said, amusement in his voice “yes, now I see it.”

Arthur turned towards him. He was wearing a suit, Arthur noted, black jacket artfully draped over a horrible checkered shirt. There was no tie to go with it, but it wouldn't have suited Merlin anyway.

It should've made Arthur feel stupid and overdressed in his boring black-suit-white-shirt-red-tie combination, but all it did was make him feel solid and settled.

“What are you doing here?” he breathed, the wonder evident in his voice. He would've cringed, but the time for hiding his feelings was long since over.

Merlin smiled at him. He was wearing his glasses again, and Arthur's heart was soaring.

“It came to my attention that I might've misunderstood something,” he said quietly. Arthur took a tiny step towards him, not enough to infringe on his personal space, but enough to satisfy the sudden urge to be closer. “So I came to resolve the misunderstanding.”

Arthur could feel himself smile. “Yeah?”

Merlin's eyes were very blue. Like a calm lake hidden in the depths of a mythical forest, or the moment before dawn overtook a night sky. “Yeah. It seems you were flirting with me. Freya told me. Well, hit me over the head with a pillow until I got the message.”

Arthur laughed, but even his laugh was soft and quiet. He didn't know what was wrong with him. “Maybe I should've gone with that from the beginning.”

A tentative hand settled on Arthur's waist. Merlin smiled. He smelled like shampoo and cinnamon and Arthur felt like he was flying.

“You see,” Merlin continued, “I thought you weren't serious. Didn't stop me from flailing like an idiot whenever you did it, but I didn't want to get into something with you when it was just a joke to you, and to me it was... not.”

Arthur ever so gently touched Merlin's cheek. They were suddenly very close, and he had no idea who had moved. “It's not. It's not a joke. I'm kind of hopelessly in love with you, you idiot.”

Merlin's smile was blinding and Arthur gave his heart up as a lost cause, it was just all over the place. “That's good,” Merlin said, and he sounded out of breath. Arthur didn't know if it was because of his confession or because of the way their lips seemed to brush whenever one of them talked. “The in love part. Me too.”

Arthur nodded and it brought him even closer to Merlin. There was a hand at his neck, tugging him downwards.

Kissing Merlin, it turned out, was even better than he'd imagined. It was awkward. He collided with Merlin's glasses, and Merlin huffed a laugh. His hot breath brushed over Arthur's mouth, and he crushed their lips together helplessly.

Merlin's hand was hot on his neck, his face soft in Arthur's palms. He kissed Merlin like his life depended on it. They started out soft and gentle, Merlin's lips giving beneath his, but then Merlin curled his tongue against Arthur's and Arthur found himself kissing Merlin with all the desperation he didn't even know had gathered inside him in the past few weeks.

Merlin gave as good as he got, and when they separated after what seemed like an eternity, they were both out of breath and smiling.

Suddenly Merlin chuckled, somewhat hysterically. “I cannot believe our first kiss was in front of the ugliest thing I've seen since your butterscotch shirt.”

Arthur chuckled. “You're ridiculous.” He kissed Merlin's cheek. Merlin flushed, smiling brightly.

“Merlin–“ Arthur started, but Merlin interrupted him, his fingers were lazily playing with Arthur's hair at his nape.

“Hey Arthur?”

Arthur felt himself smile again. Or maybe he'd never stopped? “Hm?”

“Go out with me?”

Arthur pretended to think about it. The fingers in his hair were very distracting. “Nah, don't particularly fancy it.”

Merlin laughed and tugged at Arthur's hair. “Prat. C'mon, go out with me, please.”

“Alright,” Arthur whispered, swaying forwards to kiss Merlin again. “I'd love to.”

  
  


Arthur bought the painting and presented Merlin with it at their one-year anniversary. Merlin laughed so hard he entirely missed the part where Arthur got down on his knees and pulled out a ring.

It was okay though. Arthur was nothing if not persistent.

 


End file.
